


Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me

by Udunie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood and Gore, Description of dead body, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Murder Husbands, Serial Killers, implied past pedophilia, referenced pedophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:09:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4521408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Udunie/pseuds/Udunie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhat disconnected ficlets from the same Serial Killer AU</p><p>or</p><p>New York is terrorized by not one, but two serial killers on the loose.<br/>And when the Manhattan Monster actually teams up with the Striker? God save us all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I will try to tell you guys what order the ficlets are in, but atm even I'm not sure LOL

“Argent! Have you seen it?!” the Captain roared through the station.

Chris cursed under his breath. Of course he did. The whole world did. A pair of serial killers working in the same city, messaging each-other in the media.

Today it was the following:

 

_'Dear Editors,_

_I sincerely thank you for your help in getting my words across. As all your smart, well informed special columnists will tell you - and America - my kind thrives on attention. I completely agree. Even though I’m not one of the fools aching to be caught, I do enjoy a good chase._

_But the attention I’m most interested in getting is not yours at the moment._

_How are you, my lovely Striker? I’ve read that another of your victims was found in a dumpster. Unfortunately I couldn’t get all the details - the police always meddles - but it seemed like you enjoyed yourself immensely._

_I was thinking… Maybe I should leave you a little present sometime?_

_Thank you for inquiring about my own little hobby. I admit, I have been slacking off, but your timely work inspired me, and I’ve actually managed to get two of them yesterday. It wouldn’t do to let you get too far ahead in the body count._

_Yours sincerely,_

_The Manhattan Monster’_

 

And of course the other one couldn’t keep his mouth shut either.

 

**'Hey there,**

**jsyk, the world is again better with another scumbag gone. I would rather not go into the details, let’s just say, I had some excess energy to burn off, so don’t expect to have an easy time with the ID.**

**Also, if you’re reading this, Monster, oh my god! I’ve just read a pretty detailed post about the last chick and let me tell you, that was an A+ job. It’s been almost two weeks since then, so I hope you’re doing okay. Maybe they just haven’t found the bodies yet, so I’m not about to get my panties in a twist though, but take care! It’s much more fun working alongside you than alone - it also works that the cops have no idea what to do with two of us running loose. LOL**

**Anyway, can’t wait to read about the next one they find. I’m utterly fascinated with your method, maybe I should have become a cop.**

**Don’t forget to have fun!**

**Striker**

**PS I’m still loving this name, people, it makes me sound like a comic book villain!’**

 

Chris wanted to bang his head against the table. All they needed was for these two to get together. The FBI said it wasn’t very likely, because their MOs were so different; the Manhattan Monster went after blond women and tore them apart somehow - they had no idea how he was doing it - and the Striker kept killing forty something guys with the help of an aluminium baseball bat.

And they were pretty fucking good so far, not leaving anything of worth for the police to work with.

Chris sighed. Well, according to these letters, it was time to go out and start looking for bodies.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is loosely following the first...

Chris knew from the start that the Captain made a huge mistake when appointing him of all people to hold a press conference. And how right he was.

 

* * *

 

_Dear Editors,_

_I’m writing in response of Detective Argent’s so called ‘press conference’ if you could even call it that. Far be it from me to insult the good detective, as I think he is the single reasonable man on the force, but he is not a stellar public speaker._

_I would also like the public to know that I take offence to being called a cannibal, as it implies that I’m human. There’s a reason why I prefer to be known as the Manhattan Monster - you have to admit, it has a certain ring to it, and being labelled a cannibal makes it sound like I’m a TV show rip-off._

_But, let me get to the more important matters! Striker, I will not speak up on your behalf - as we haven’t had the fortune to meet yet - but let me tell you that I don’t agree with that sorry excuse of a profile they cooked up about you. Of course, I believe I have a bit more detailed insight into the head of a serial killer than the police does, so it’s no wonder that they have a hard time appreciating your work._

_The whole thing just made me more determined to meet you, expect a little gift in the near future._

_Yours sincerely,_

_The Manhattan Monster_

 

* * *

 

**Hey,**

**so, okay. Let’s get this straight. Just because blunt trauma is my preferred method of killing, it doesn’t mean that I’m actually a Neanderthal with a club. All that shit the police made up had me climbing the walls, to be honest, fuck those guys.**

**(and, like, I know that I should just leave them think that I’m an idiot - it would only help me in the long run, but come on!)**

**Anyway. Argent, I’m disappointed. You seemed like a reasonable guy, but apparently not. At least you had nice things to say about the Monster. I mean, the cannibalism thing hasn’t been confirmed before, so that’s a plus - not like I haven’t hoped for it, it just makes him more interesting imho.**

**Well, think whatever the fuck you want, I’ve just dumped my 17th victim and you have no idea what you are doing, so, you know, suck my balls.**

**Striker**

 

* * *

 

Chris kind of hated his life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place somewhere further along the line, as you will see.
> 
> Also, warning: implication of graphic violence!

Stiles circled the guy in the chair, just feasting his eyes. He was almost perfect - matching build, matching height, brown hair, he even had a crooked nose. He could feel Peter’s eyes on him, and it only made him more giddy.

The werewolf (and holy shit, werewolves were a thing, apparently) stayed in the shadows, not wanting to disturb him. Just as well.

The guy - Hank? Harry? something like that - was following his every move with wide, terrified eyes. He couldn’t do much, not with being tied to a chair with his tie stuffed in his mouth under two layers of duct tape. His whole body was tense, ready to fight or flight and unable to do either.

Stiles walked around him slowly, pulling his bat on the ground. It was the new one that Peter gave him. Stiles put it away back then, waiting for them to do this together; he wanted the Monster to be a part of it when he first used it.

Stiles usually didn’t talk to his kills, he didn’t want to break the illusion - if he concentrated enough he could see  _that_ face, the one he really wanted to cave in, but this time he couldn’t keep quiet, not when he noticed it.

He couldn’t help laughing.

“Yes! Can you see this shit?” he asked, almost mesmerized as he stepped closer, nudging the guy’s groin with his bat. The man flinched, moaning behind his gag.

Peter stepped closer, mouth stretched in a smile.

“Fear boner?”

Stiles grinned back at him.

“Fuck yeah! It’s so rare to find one… It’s…” he had to adjust himself. He’d been hard since the guy woke up and started struggling, but now he felt on the verge of coming.

His phone started ringing.

Peter lifted an eyebrow, but Stiles still picked it up after a glance on the caller id.

“It’s my stepmom,” he mouthed at Peter.

“Hey, Melissa! How’s it going!” he shifted, wanting to finish with the conversation as soon as possible. “What? No, no I’m being perfectly safe… Yes. Yeah I know there are two serial killers on the loose.” He winked at Peter, barely able to hold it together. “No, no… Listen, actually, I’m out with a friend, so you don’t have to worry, okay? But I kind of have to go… Right. Okay. Say hi to Scotty for me! Sure, bye!”

He pocketed the phone. He didn’t mind the call, there was no such thing as Melissa calling him at a bad time, he would always pick up for her. 

But it was time for the fun part.

He nudged the guy’s groin again, feeling his own Adrenalin level rise. Yeah,  _yeah_ it was time.

He got the small burlap sack out of his bag and put it on the man’s head. The poor fucker tried to yank away, but it was no use. Stiles tightened the strings around his neck, not much though, he didn’t want him to black out.

He stepped back, just looking for a few seconds. Shit, shit he loved this part the best. With the sack on, he didn’t even have to imagine…

Stiles raised his bat, and swung - stopping only an inch from the guy’s face and bumping him lightly on the nose then giggled at the strangled moan of terror.

He did it again and again until he could feel the stretch in his muscles. Warming up was important.

The guy was a crying mess by then, his pants soiled by his piss. 

“Are you ready?” Stiles asked, but it was directed at Peter.

The werewolf stepped up close behind him, taking his hands in his own carefully, as they pulled back the bat together.

“Say,” Peter whispered in his ear, making him shiver. Shit, he was going to come in his pants on impact, he was pretty sure. “Did you think about it? About what it would be like to be able to swing so much  _harder_?”

Stiles swallowed. Of course, ever since he found out what Peter was.

“How…” Fuck, he was already as breathless as anyone in the middle of sex. “How much harder?”

“Let me show you,” Peter murmured, low and intimate.

They swung.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> Serial killers au, someone either of them knows finds out
> 
> Okay, so this isn’t the last piece of the SK AU, but it’s the last bit timeline wise…
> 
> ETA: Shit sorry, I just realized that this is in a different tense then the previous parts... Sorry about this, I hope it's still somewhat enjoyable...

They are heading out of the state, New York already far behind them. Stiles has no idea whether they’ve found his last one yet when his phone starts to ring, and then he knows.

Peter glaces at the caller ID, then puts his hand on his knee, squeezing down. They haven’t talked about this, but with the new bond between them, Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if his alpha knew exactly what he is about to do.

Stiles hasn’t been nervous in a long, long time, but when he picks up the phone, his stomach feels a bit unsettled.

“Hey, Melissa! How’s it going?”

“Stiles…” she pauses. Stiles listens carefully, with his improved hearing he can even hear the beat of her heart. It has been the best part of becoming a werewolf so far -  _hearing_ the life in people - it doesn’t have to be a full moon to make him crave blood, but then again, that was always there.

“Stiles, I’ve just got a call,” she says. She doesn’t sound like she’d been crying. That’s good. “Raf… Raf is dead,” her voice breaks a bit at the end, and that’s the thing that settles Stiles’ nerves and clears his head.

“Yeah, I know.”

“What? How?” Melissa sounds mildly confused, no suspicion, no nothing. It’s kind of sweet.

“I was the one who killed him,” he admits. It feels good to tell someone who isn’t Peter, who wasn’t there. It makes his blood sing.

“W-what?” she sounds like she’s about to kneel over. Stiles hopes she’s sitting.

“It was me, I’m the New York Striker. I bashed in his face with a baseball bat until it was just this gooey mush…” he stops talking when Melissa starts to cry. Maybe he should have kept to the bare facts…

Stiles listens to her on the other end of the line, waiting to see if she will ask. He needs to know. And then she does.

“Why?” it’s quiet, almost inaudible, but his ears can pick up a sigh from a mile away now.

“Did you know he’s been fucking me since I was twelve?”

There’s a few seconds of absolute silence and then she’s sobbing so hard that she drops the phone. Stiles can hear her nails scratching against the plastic as she picks it back up. It’s all the answer he needs, and something in him settles. He never really thought that she knew, but the confirmation still makes him lightheaded with relief.

“S-sco…” she can’t even finish the name, and Stiles doesn’t mind that it’s her first concern. It’s only natural.

“Nah, I don’t think so,” he says, reassuring. Stiles can’t smell her scent from the other end of the country, but he knows her well enough to guess at what she’s thinking.

“Look, Melissa. It’s not your fault okay? Not what he did, not what I do,” he wasn’t sure that she was even hearing him with how hard she’s crying, but it get’s louder when he uses the present tense for himself, so she must be listening.

“It’s… I could say it’s his fault, but I don’t know. Maybe I would have turned out like this even if Raf didn’t happen, who knows? Don’t beat yourself up about it-” 

“Y-your… your friend,” it’s not really a question, but Stiles knows what she means.

“Yeah, he’s the Monster. I’m actually with him right now, we left New York… I know that this probably doesn’t make things better for you, but I like him. We fit.”

Peter squeezes his knee again, catching his eye in the mirror and giving him a sharp little smile. Stiles grins back.

“Listen, I know you will probably want to alert the cops, it’s fine, I don’t mind. I would appreciate it if you could wait an hour so though, so I can ditch the phone. I was just waiting for your call.”

She’s still sobbing, it kind of breaks Stiles heart, but it doesn’t really matter.

“I wanted you to know, so you won’t be worried that I’m not coming home again,” he says, waiting. There’s no reply, just the sounds of someone crying their heart out. Stiles sighs. It still went better than he expected, so he has no reason to complain.

“Bye, Melissa. Say goodbye to Scotty for me,” he says before disconnecting and turning his phone off. They will have to take it apart and make sure it will never be found, but it will keep for a few more moments.

Stiles leans back in his seat, smiling at the roof of the Camaro. He feels better than he did in a while. He knows it’s not enough, that it isn’t closure. He will still keep going.  _They_ will keep going. But it’s good for now.

 

* * *

 

They watch the news a carefully the next day, and then the next and so on. But the police apparently has no new information on the New York Striker.

Stiles turns his head, orienting himself until he’s pretty sure he’s facing California.

“Thanks,” he says, smiling into the sunset.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> tbh I'd really like a scene where Peter and newly turned Stiles hunt for the first time (not even a human necessary). And, you know, every serial killer au needs a scene where the characters fuck in the blood of their victim :DDD
> 
> Hello! In the Serial Killers Au, I keep think thinking it would be hot to see Steter have sex after a kill. I love all your stories btw, so thank you for existing ;)  
> — regandracken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so first of all, this stupid fic wanted to be written in the present tense and I obeyed. I have no idea what is going on with this ‘verse.
> 
> Second, fair warning! THIS FIC CONTAINS IMPLICATION OF GRAPHIC VIOLENCE/MURDER AND EXPLICIT DESCRIPTION OF A MANGLED CORPS.

Stiles went to sleep in Peter’s bed sometime in the afternoon, exhausted, his wrist throbbing with pain and covered in blood. When he wakes up it’s dark outside and Peter is wrapping his naked body in the sheets.

He stiffens for a second, ready to fight. There’s something happening in his mouth, his gums itch and everything is… is too loud around him, but Peter flashes his eyes and then it’s okay.

They are red, like fresh blood and Stiles feels something in him settle. It’s not like he feared, there’s no inherent submission in it, just the recognition of something stronger, but still, somehow equal.

Peter picks him up and carries him out of the apartment, straight to the elevator. They go to the underground garage and Peter puts him on the backseat of that flashy, stupid Camaro.

Stiles shivers a bit when the man lets go of him, missing his touch instantly, but they are already moving before he has time to work himself up.

He feels a bit weak - but not in his body, no, physically he feels ready to take on the whole police force on his own -, his senses are overwhelmed, struggling to digest this new, high definition world around him. He can’t help moaning when a leon sign blinds him for a second…

Peter catches his eyes in the mirror, giving him a smile with too many teeth to be human.

“Don’t worry, love. I know exactly what you need.”

 

* * *

 

By the time they reach Central Park, Stiles is a shivering, feverish mess. There’s something moving under his skin, wanting to break out, to swallow him whole, and only the knowledge of Peter being near keeps him together.

Peter parks in a small alley, gets him out and carries him to the wall of the park, jumping over it without so much as a sound. Stiles’s stomach flips with it, but he manages to keep his lunch inside until they land.

He heaves a bit, but when Peter peels the sheets off him and starts touching his skin, he feels better… anchored.

The man sheds his own clothes too, crunching down beside the ball of misery Stiles currently is and takes his face between his palms.

“This is your first full moon, my lovely little bloodthirsty beast, will you come and hunt with me?”

Just the mention of it is enough for Stiles’ fangs to explode out of his gums, filling his mouth with the taste of copper. He can hear a low, vibrating growl and it takes a minute to realize that he is the one making it. Peter is smiling, and in the mirror of his eyes Stiles can see his own flashing bright and blue.

Peter lets go of his face and takes his hand.

“Just let me lead you,” he says and then he is changing, body morphing with the sound of bones shifting and breaking and molding into new shapes. Stiles’ own body follows, folds inwards and then expands, hair sprouting out across his skin. It’s agonizing, and feels like it takes hours, but he knows it’s nothing more than a second.

When it’s finished, Peter is a huge, hulking black wolf beside him and Stiles is… he is on four legs now too.

He looks down on his new body, trying to see what he looks like. His fur is more brownish, but dark, like dried blood. He is long limbed, taller than Peter, but scrawny; all lean, sinewy muscle. He likes it.

It’s a bit harder to think - he didn’t become stupider, it’s just that his instincts are louder, drumming in his head with thoughts of 

_kill kill kill kill blood killbloodkillkillkilllllll_

When he starts shivering again, it’s for a different reason, all he wants is to run, to find something to hurt and tear apart and Peter does nothing to stop him.

They can’t exactly communicate, but Stiles feels like he is given the point for now to lead his first hunt, to have his first kill on the night when he is reborn into what he always knew he was - a  _monster_.

 

* * *

 

It was almost too easy, but the trill of finally tearing into something living with his own teeth for the first time makes him ecstatic.

He thinks it was a homeless person. He would have probably stunk for his human nose, but with the new one he isn’t bothered by the natural smell of the human body, and it doesn’t matter anyway - as soon as he tore the guy open and the metallic, rich tang of blood filled his mouth, wetting his whole muzzle, he didn’t really care about anything else.

The hobo is dead now, eyes glassy, his insides hanging out and still steaming in the cold night air.

Peter literally has to drag him away by the scruff of his neck and Stiles tries to fight him, teeth snapping at his alpha with the need to get back to his prey. He is overpowered easily, and when Peter growls back, all the hair on his body stands on end and then recedes, like on command.

Peter changes too, and suddenly they are lying on the ground naked and panting. Stiles feels his blood sizzling. The earth is damp against his back and Peter is hard and hot, pushing down on him.

It takes a second to orient himself, but then he is pulling the man down, slotting their mouths together in a violent kiss, desperate to share the thick, rich taste of blood on his tongue.

Peter actually moans, clawed hands grabbing Stiles’ hips and turning him around, moving his body like he’s just a ragdoll. He is so hard that it hurts. Peter too, and when he slots his dick to his hole and pushes, Stiles  _howls_.

It hurts with no lube and no preparation, but his body mends itself as soon as it breaks and in a minute Peter is fucking him, fast and brutal and animalistic. Perfect.

It takes unsurprisingly little time to get him on the edge, he is clawing on the ground, pushing his ass back even though it hurts, it hurts so good that he is going crazy with it.

Peter leans over him and bites the back of his neck hard. It makes Stiles keen and his eyes lose focus for a second, only to zero in on the dead, mangled body. He locks gazes with the unblinking eyes of his first kill as a monster and he  _comes_.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you liked it! Or hit me up at udunie.tumblr.com


End file.
